…with apologies to Theo Roethke


Where first I strained: a fox against the trap

And with that fervor pull: a mule with cart

To prove myself by work, the mind apart

From this dull world of mud and blood and sap

Now silk the sinews seem. This is my lot

By pleasure tethered like a breeding-bull

The fox has ceased to strain, the mule to pull

The animal content, the cart moves not.


What kindness can be chased by unbound kine?

What scholar, collar, stranger, saint, to lend

A hurting hand? For world-imprison’d mind

A palm outstreched is flesh, and keeps the trend.

This is the cure; no cure for it to find

Nor want to find – and so no hope to mend.

And so spirit from body does unwind

Until we are pure body at the end


~ by davekov on 10 January 2014.

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